


Detective Stories

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Detective stories, Fluff, Gen, John has a son, Post-Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-30
Updated: 2013-09-30
Packaged: 2017-12-28 01:49:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/986229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock's been gone for a little over three years, now. John has a new family, and his son's favourite bedtime stories are tales of the great detective who was once his father's best friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Detective Stories

**Author's Note:**

> So this may be the cutest thing I've ever written. And it's happier than I'm making it sound, I promise.

Outside the weather was typical for London, drizzly and grey, but a sunny glow filled the house. Hamish giggled loudly as he was tossed up by his dad, only to be caught again in his warm, strong arms a moment later. Mary watched them from across the room, smiling fondly.  
"Be careful, boys! I'll be home at six. Is spaghetti okay for dinner?"  
"Spaghetti sounds lovely," replied John. "What do you think, Hamish? Do you want spaghetti for your dinner?"  
The young boy smiled and nodded enthusiastically.  
"Spag'ti!" he laughed. John grinned.  
"It seems we're agreed then. Spaghetti it is."  
"I'll see you at six. Love you."  
Mary turned and left, picking up her umbrella as she left.  
John carried his son over to the sofa and sat down.  
"So, Hamish. What shall we do while Mummy's away?"  
"Story!" cried Hamish. John smiled at him, taking in the blond hair and sunny grin that marked him out as a Watson. Truth be told, it was Hamish and Mary that had brought John's smile back.  
"Okay. Shall we pick a book?"  
"No, not a book. Want a Sh'lock story."  
John's smile became slightly forced, but he hugged his son until the tension left him. 

The Sherlock stories had begun as a way of helping John move on. His therapist had told him to talk to people, but he couldn't. He couldn't find the words. Then, woken at 3am by the cries of a child, John had started talking. He just spoke, trying to get Hamish to settle, not realising what he was saying until he heard Mary in the doorway.  
"There was a man I once knew. My best friend, actually. And this man was a detective, which means his job was catching bad people. He was very clever, Hamish. He could tell where you had walked by looking at your shoes; he could tell what books you read just by looking at your fingers; he could even-"  
And here John had paused to tickle Hamish's stomach, making the boy laugh.  
"-he could even tell how many cookies you had eaten just by looking at your shirt, all covered in crumbs. So he was a very very clever man. But he was a bit silly sometimes too. He wouldn't eat his food, even if he was hungry."  
"He didn't like it?"  
"He liked his food, he just sometimes forgot to eat any. And instead of putting food in the fridge, he'd put experiments there. Because he wasn't just a detective- he could do science as well. And this man lived in a house called 221b, and he caught lots and lots of bad people."  
By this point, Hamish had been getting drowsy. Before his eyes had shut, he'd mumbled out a question.  
"Dad...whawas his name?"  
John had felt his mouth go dry, but he'd somehow managed to reply.  
"His name was Sherlock. Sherlock Holmes."  
His breath hitched- he hadn't said that name since... for a long time- but he forced himself to keep it together.  
"Goodnight, Hamish."

And that had been the start. From then on, John would tell Hamish about Sherlock almost every night. Sometimes he'd show Hamish pictures, taken from newspapers. The boy loved the stories, always wanting more, and John felt a little stronger every time he told Hamish another tale. The boy's favourite was the story of when Sherlock went to Buckingham Palace only wearing a sheet, and he'd made John tell him it at least twelve times. John didn't mind, although there was one memorable occasion when a naked Hamish had jumped out of the bath and sprinted around the house yelling "I'm a 'tective! I don't need clothes!"

So John told Hamish the story of the Hound (changing the scarier details), stopping in confusion when Hamish asked if Sherlock was a princess.  
"What? No, Sherlock wasn't a princess," laughed John. "Why do you think that?"  
"He has a palace. Princesses have those," explained Hamish, like it was the simplest thing in the world. John stared incredulously at him for several seconds before bursting out laughing, hugging Hamish tightly. The boy looked up at the door, then squirmed free.  
"Not now hugs, Daddy! Sh'lock!"  
"Okay, okay," laughed John, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes and trying to banish the mental image of his friend in a dress. "I'll keep telling your story."  
"Sh'lock!" insisted Hamish.  
"Yes, I'll tell you about-"  
But now Hamish was pointing to something over John's shoulder, and he followed his son's gaze to the open doorway.  
To the darker shadows at one side of the doorway.  
To the figure in those shadows.  
"Sherlock," breathed John, running over, Hamish temporarily forgotten on the sofa. He grabbed the detective's shoulders.  
"It's you. Really you."  
"Who else would I be?" asked Sherlock, the hint of his old sarcasm almost disguising the worry in his eyes. "I'm sorry for putting you through that, John. I-"  
The rest of his words were cut off by John's arms around him, pulling him into a hug. Sherlock awkwardly hugged John back, then looked over at Hamish who was staring at him with an expression of wonder on his face.  
"Daddy... Sh'lock's real! Really real!" cried the youngest Watson, and John turned to him and beamed.  
"I know he is. I told you, didn't I? This man is my best friend."  
And if the room was sunny before, Sherlock's surprised grin lit up like all the stars in the night sky.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, comments are FANTABULOUS and feedback is AMAZELING (I'm just making words up now)  
> Hope you enjoyed! :D  
> the usual disclaimer here as well- none of these characters are mine, they're all property of Arthur Conan Doyle and, to a later extent, the BBC


End file.
